


The colors in you.

by AmiriteWYT



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiriteWYT/pseuds/AmiriteWYT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are colors in them and they're staining everything they dare to touch.</p><p>And really, it's like watching pale blue singing to burning red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The colors in you.

**Author's Note:**

> This originally was for fallenone's secret santa (quite a time ago, thus) though it's not related at all to Christmas.  
> (She liked it and wanted it posted so, thank you).

They say blue is the color of melancholy. Blue is a complex palette.

It is both the shade of sky and sea. Of far up and deep down. Of luminous desperate days and somber hopeful nights. It seals opposites together.

The angered midnight and the bored winter skies blending into one; carrying whispers between ground and space, ageless tales winding in its pigments. Coursing through clear rivers and falling into abyssal oceans. Sparkling warm on beach towels and icing on frozen lakes.  
It is the color of bonding.

Deriving out of cyan, the one true creator. The One of the three primary colors; it is old, it is powerful, oh it is important. It has seen the world change; destroy and rebuild itself all over again in infinite and unbreakable cycles. It has seen civilizations burn themselves down to ashes only to rise never higher. It has seen humans dying and born anew.  
It is the color of history.

Humankind hiding in its shades; the way it breaks, shatters into pieces like drowning eyes but nevertheless climbs back from the deep waters. Seeing always too much and never enough at the same time. Understanding the feeling of tears ripping chests apart and the belief of quivering smiles.  
It is the color of hope.

They say blue is the color of melancholy. Blue is a complex palette.

 

She is blue.

 

They say blue is the color of melancholy.  
The first time she enters that 307 room, it’s moonstone that colors her skin. Bored habit, as she throws the little of belongings she has on the bed of-  what’s her name again ? Patty ? Betty ? Becky ? Who cares anyway ? Not her.

This is routine. This is familiar. This is what she does.

She ruffles into the furniture she finds on her own side of the room, disinterested, and then, makes her pick. Some of these could actually look nice on her. She’ll have to try them on to be absolutely certain. She doesn't mind the slightest. 

“ Excuse-me but… Who the Hell are you ?”

And it is an interested hint of turquoise- long forgotten color- that glimmers in her eyes as she first lays eyes on that tiny human slowly getting angry. She can feel the heat radiating from the girl, it could almost warm her frozen self up if it only was possible she could be warm again without burning herself. She doesn’t make the same mistakes twice. Internally, she smiles and her dark eyes sparkle again with provocation. This is going to be fun.

With time,-and a lot of patience, really- she learns to know more about the tiny human. Cupcake. Buttercup. Laura. 

She observes her, and the passion emanating from her seems to usher into her skin. This is an old feeling that starts to settle back in her chest. So old she had forgotten its mere existence. How long has it been again ? This is dangerous, she knows it. But hasn't she always played with danger. Walking over the edge of unfathomable abyss, ready to dip, ready to fall.

They say blue is the color of sadness.  
She keeps her apparent disdain for everything, denying with all she has in herself the impossible changes in her core. She doesn’t care about humans, their lives is so short and meaningless. A blink and they turn to dust, slipping between fingers, sliding into cracks until they mend with the muddy earth at your feet. Merely twigs for a being made of ashes like she is.

But the brevity and fragility of Laura’s life suddenly seems to bother her.

She can’t help the almost nice -from her criteria, of course- words spilling from her lips and lighting her gaze up.   
First, because flirting is in her nature.   
Second, because Laura is definitely waterproof to any of her attempts at making her get it and it’s definitely too fun not to try to make her squirm.  
Third, and she would never admit it, with the whole “Kidnapping you and tying you and starving you where she could feel beryl pooling at her feet” set aside, the human is quite nice.

But she’ll deny it to death. She doesn’t have any chances, any possibilities or any rights to touch her. If she lays as much as a single finger on her, coming closer attracted by such a bright light, dipping herself into heat from head to toes, she’d burn herself up. And she won’t be doing that. Not ever again. Yet...

Cerulean dwells in the cavity of her plexus as already, she knows she would doom herself. And couldn't Laura be more obvious than she is ? She can’t help anything, now. Doesn't want to.  
Parts of her scream when she itches to reach for her. When her fingers are tingling to warm themselves up on the human’s skin. When her heart is desperately seeking for a home, anywhere, everywhere.  
But as she runs into obscure nights, hide away in shadows, stay in the darkness where she truly belongs, she wonders why it is howling so loud deep down in herself.

In her veins this is electric blue that sparkles every time that giant Amazonian girl comes near her roommate. Her human. Her Laura.

Territorial, is she ? After all, isn’t one side of her coin engraved with a black cat holding the moon into its claws.

Blame’s on Eiffel Tower for thinking the human needs her over protectiveness. That the tiny girl isn’t a brave warrior all by herself. Fighting and kicking and punching through everything that is thrown at her. Burning with a flame brighter than the Sun. Eyes blazing fire and fierceness on her lips. Blame’s on her for thinking they could get away with it. That there was a place on Earth they could be safe. That freedom was free of a price.

Ultramarine freezes her as she watches her mother rises.

They never said blue was the color of courage.  
It is glaucous stabbing at her heart when her ears ring with “Go run and hide.” and it is commelina that fills her eyes with the words “We’re done”. What a fool to think she could brushes such a bright light without burning herself again.

She wipes at her face in the middle of pallid nights and comes back. Because she has known it for too long now. She’s going to doom herself. And when she makes that silent truce with the Amazon, she knows she just did.

Her mind is still reeling with nagging thoughts wanting her dead.  
But don’t worry, dreams come true when you wait long enough. And she’s has three hundred years to learn patience.

A tremor of bright imperial blue drips from her trembling lips as she casts Laura her last look, snatching herself from Ell’s gaze, and it is painful. She sighs a smile. A snarky comment that has the little human half smiling as the pain leaves her for good. And she is sure, it is the most beautiful shade of periwinkle she has ever seen.

In a beat, arms high over her head, fingers clutching on the Blade of Hastur as if made of blue steel, she throws herself into the bright Light without looking back. She knows she doomed herself the day she convinced her heart she could touch the Sun without burning herself up.

Goodbyes are for suckers.

 

Then there’s white everywhere and suddenly she isn’t blue anymore.

 

She opens her eyes to complete obscurity. So deep she wonders if her eyes really are open or if she’s just dreaming she’s conscious. She wishes, oh she prays. But then the pain swivels into her chest, screaming to her that she’s still alive and she loses it to shadows again.

She remembers discussing them with Laura. A long time ago. So long ago she’s not sure if it’s in this lifetime or in one of her previous ones. Small bits of light shining over her, drifting into her eyes but there’s nothing left. They are glassy and empty and she is blind.

She cannot feel the pain that once swept over her body. Cannot feel the ache of bending bones snapping and dismantled hopes. Cannot feel the bittersweet taste of freedom.

Actually, she can’t feel her body at all. It’s been ripped from the inside out with pain and now… nothing. An empty shell. Her body finally echoing with her soul. Her soul before Laura ? Maybe.  
There are simple things she wishes she had said.

But words are betrayers, they never quite match what they are trying to say. She didn't voice them, because she wouldn't want them to mean anything else than what she felt. Sometimes, things can’t be uttered out loud without losing their hidden meanings. So she kept silent, words tickling on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be whispered. She kept them close to her heart, in secret, they weren't good enough. She wasn't. Not for what she felt. Not for what she wanted to answer. Not yet.

Does she regret  in the end ? She has no idea. She doesn’t know anything anymore except one thing.  She’s going to die. Finally. She hears the word echoing in her mind. She’s waiting, patiently, for her dream to come true. Someone heard her, she should be happy. Somewhere deep in herself, she thinks she is. It’s been so long. She’s so old.

She’d be laughing if it wasn't for the cool grey digging in her heart and the salty taste in her mouth as sad pained eyes dance on her eyelids. She snorts at herself in disdain. What a fool. The tiny human probably isn’t sad but more relieved than anything else right now. Her real roommate is back, now. Who is she ? Nothing. 

She’s only fooled herself into thinking she could be.

She loses one more battle to the night.  
  
Cambridge blue echoes in her ears. She shuts herself. She doesn’t want to hear, she doesn’t want to listen, she doesn’t want to feel. There’s nothing. Nothing but the void filling her empty shell. She’s dead. Just let her be that way. 

“Carm’ !”

 Droplets of blue slide on her lips, down her throat, straight to her still heart. A premise of warmth following its path. A beat. So soft, it’s almost a dream. A ghost touch from somewhere she isn’t anymore. From a place she doesn’t belong to anymore. It freezes. She belongs nowhere, she’s unwanted, she doesn’t exist. Even Mother can’t help her now. Darkness will take back its hold on her soon. 

“Please don’t be dead !” 

Death. A thump. Another. Undeath. She’s been dead for more than three hundred years, Laura, haven’t you been listening all this time ? Have you already forgotten ?  
Dead. Plumbago spreads out in her body. Slowly. Undead. Slipping into her veins. A thump.  
Why does it matter ? Her heart is still, oh so still.  
Dying.

“Please, _please_ , don’t be dead !”

Iron grips on every part of her. It burns. It burns. It burns. She’s dead. And there’s someone touching her. Burning her. No. She’s alive. She pushes away the pain, focus on her surroundings, shadows won’t get her this time.

Why, why, why echoes in her mind but then there’s a squeeze on her shoulder. She’s alive.  And she fights blindly, purposelessly, valiantly. She slowly opens her eyes, sharply breathing light azure through pierced lungs and suddenly she’s sitting, with the tiny human’s arms circling her.

Clutching on her for dear life. Welcoming her home. She’s alive.

 “Hi...”

 

 The rest is a blur.

 

She’s standing in front of her roommate. Sun dance. Laura.

And she can’t believe what she’s seeing. It isn’t real, it can’t be, she died for good this time. This is just a dream. This is just one these fantasies she used to fool her heart with. Just one of those delusions persuading herself that she can touch the Sun without burning her whole self to dust. But is it ?

She watches the tiny human rambles and rambles and rambles. And it is love that takes place in her eyes. It is love that washes over her. It is love that makes her soul swells again for the first time in centuries.

 

And really, it’s like watching pale blue singing to burning red.

 

//

 

They say red is the color of passion. Red is a complex palette.

It is both the shade of sunsets and rust. Of burning love and eternal death. Of soft blushing cheeks and long dried blood. It seals opposites together.  
  
The throat ripping screams and the wounded fists; battle cries filling heavy air, howlings of long forgotten peace winding in its pigments. Humans setting their owns ablaze, claret smoke swirling and blending into aching skies. Shredded skin and screeching hearts.  
It is the color of hatred.

Deriving from Magenta, the one true protector. The One of the three primary colors; it is ancient, it is vibrant, oh it is fierce. Swollen lips and rosy cheeks as short dresses twirl in infinite dances. Heated touches warming frozen eyes up. Open arms and promises of home.  
It is the color of love.

Creaked leaves twirling in the autumn wind; sprinkling the world in shiny eyes. Dipping into fantasy everything it brushes. Turning grounds dripping with horrors into fantasy places streaked with bloody rivers.  
It is the color of reverie.

They say red is the color of passion. Red is a complex palette.

 

She is red.

 

They say red is the color of passion.  
And when she realizes her roommate is missing, she knows she has to do something. Ruby settles into her plexus as she calls and calls trying to find her. But no one can find her or, it would be more accurate to say that no one cares enough to and she’s torn between anger, fear and sadness.

Until the door swings open.

And it is a hint of carmine that glimmers in her eyes as she first lays eyes on that intruder throwing God knows what on her roommate’s bed. Then indignation washes on her features. Heat runs under her skin. Revolution blossoms in her heart, anew.

“I’m your new roommate, sweetheart.”

The roommate from Hell. The instant nickname seems to fit the young woman all too well as, with the redhead gang, they discover such interesting tales. Myths of fire and running in the night with blood smeared hands and lips.

She doesn't give up on her search for her real roommate, though. And never will, whatever happens. She’s brave and stubborn and loyal. She digs and digs, shining in her searches, her burning energy radiating all around her. 

With Carmilla finally tied up, she gets so many explanations to her multiple heated inquiries. She gets answers to questions she didn't know she asked herself. Lava shines in her eyes at the vampire’s story. At the vampire’s words. At the vampire’s look.

“Wait… You thought that was me trying to _eat_ you ?” 

Vermilion strikes her heart as she pierces her TA’s with her words. It feels like a break up.  
Like the death of promises not yet made. Like home crumbling before you touch it. Like stars dying before they get to be named.

How can you get over someone you never really dated ? How can you get over an “almost” if only it was what they were in the end. She sighs. There’s pain swivelling but not really. There’s another thump echoing with the previous one now, another dance in her chest she cannot ignore anymore. Doesn't want to. But mostly, there’s just anger and unstoppable fierceness and deep wish for freedom. 

“Is this because of _you_ ?”

No ! _Yes_... Partially. Scarlet floods from her hands as they waltz. Slips through her skin right to the steady thump in her chest. Stains their interlocked fingers.

She looks at her and what she can see stabs her heart. But in the most beautiful way she could ever imagine. There’s a feeling settling down, calmly.  
They have all the time in the world. All the time in the Universe. Eternity opening before their feet as she twirls closer to her.  
The roommate from Hell. The Vampire. Carmilla. 

They say red is the color of anger.  
It is crimson that sweeps over her when she watches the video. Freezing her veins in an aching rage, cooling her skin down. Until she’s almost as cold as Carmilla once was. Only her heart remains burning burning burning. Blazing beats pumping away iciness.

Fury makes these words slip past her lips. And it is in this feeling that she finds the courage and the will to get the missing girls back when she figures it out. Because nothing stops her from investigating and saving them.  
She’s a knight who rose on her feet all by herself, building her armor from scrapes of bravery, brandishing a sword made of her own flames.

Even though she has an odd feeling of heartbreak as she comes back to an empty room. Without any drain clogging roommate from hell, broody reading philosophy major and old vampire betrayer. Of course she does.

She doesn't stay mourning another “almost” turning to dust. Though this one feels like draining heat and storm lighting fires out. She’s has everything figured it out and she knows her weapons. She knows where her battles lie and that the war will never be over until she decides so.

And suddenly, here’s Carmilla, claws snatching her from the promising gleam, turning away from Ell to smile at her, tears streaming down their cheeks and it is powerless that she watches her throw herself at the Hungry Light. A sanguine scream is ripped from her chest as she falls on her knees.

“I’m getting really tired of this vampire heroic crap.”

 

Then there’s white everywhere and suddenly she isn’t red anymore.

 

They never said red was the color of despair.  
Cool grey shades the room around her and she can’t see. She’s on her bed and the pillow that she’s holding so close to her chest -so close to her heart- doesn't stain her hands with yellow anymore.

And it is with a lump in her throat that she pipes up, telling the tale of Carmilla’s infinite courage. Of Carmilla’s boundless strength. Of Carmilla’s eternal love.  
Because isn’t it the least she can do ?

She lost her. And everything is slowly being filled with darkness and the pain is too harsh.   
Her roommate isn’t here anymore. Betty’s back and she cannot bring herself to care. 

She’d dips in Hell itself if it means blood soiling everything, brightening again this room once so luminous to her. If it means erupting volcanoes burning her cold skin. If it means seeing her again.

Loneliness is a colorless feeling gripping at her as the future is slipping away from her hands, sliding between her fingers into the cracks of the ground until it mend with the mud at her feet.   
Because there’s no one to interrupt her with snarky comments. Because there’s no one to steal her pillow. Because there’s no one to wake her up from this nightmare, now.

She loses it, at night.

A soft knock on the door and for a short foolish beat, she can see her coming in with that sarcastic smile plastered on her infuriating face. With her dirty boots, smelling of smoke and nighty woods. And she loves her.  
Perry enters the room and, averting her eyes, she tries her best to hide the despair and pain washing over her face. Her heart aches aches aches, she wonders if she’ll ever feel anything but endless pain. Is it how eternity feels ?

Then Danny passes the door and... there she is.

She cannot think of anything else as she rushes over her.  
Blood in her hands, slipping past Carmilla’s lips, bringing her back to life. Bringing her back to her.  
A thump in her chest and rusty red colors her cheek as she throws herself at her roommate.

“Well, that was a kick.”

She doesn’t notice Perry and Danny slipping away of the room as she seems to have lost the ability to tear her eyes from her vampire. Her. Carmilla.  
Because she’s there. She. Is. There. And suddenly the light is back again and suddenly she can see again and suddenly she is warm again.  
Her heart hammering in her chest is drowning everything else around her but the vampire. Carmilla, oh Carmilla. Alive. Yes, both of them are. Finally, the universe clicks back into place.

 

The rest is a blur.

 

“Hi !”

She cannot believe what is happening. She was dead and now she isn’t and it is so wonderful and how and I should have told you and I should have showed you and I shouldn't have said such things to you and how did yo- She knows she’s rambling.

Carnelian sputtering from her lips, droplets of it sweeping over her face, her eyes tingling up with a light she thought she had lost. A light she had lost. Until Carmilla brought it back to her. 

As she always does.

And she can’t stop it and her heart is swelling and swelling and swelling with a feeling she can’t quite put a name on. Are there even words to describe it. To gives it justice.  
If they exist, she doesn’t know them, then.

When Carmilla is standing close to her, her voice falters a little. Because you were gone and I thought I’d never see you again and you were dead. But you’re not anymore now. You’re there and I’m born anew. Words betray her, dying on her lips as she loses herself into night eyes, alizarin shining into hers.

 

And really, it’s like watching pale blue singing to burning red.

 

///

 

They stare at each other, wonder and amazement dancing and swirling around them.

Light is contemplating them, darkness impatiently waiting, the world holding its breath as they inch closer, time slowing. Bending to their reality. And there are no proper words on Earth to describe what they are feeling at this very moment.

The last thin wall standing between them is suddenly crumbling down and gazes drop to lips against their will. Or is it ?

And when they kiss, it’s like waiting for the incoming of a promised imminent explosion. But none comes. Instead, they softly melt into each other. Blending into one. Giggles and happiness fills the room.

 

She’s violet.

She’s indigo.

 

"So, you’re a giant black cat, huh ?"

 

They say blue is the warmest color. They say red is the softest color.

 

Blue and Red are complex palettes.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you.


End file.
